"...Curran recreates the old West as it most probably was, but we're too ashamed to admit. Characters that reach up out of the pages, stinking of sweat, gunsmoke and liquor and punch you in the face as you read. Action which will have you sweating, fingers rigid on the pages, a storyline so compelling your eyeballs will feel like frigid marbles in your skull you've been staring at the pages so long. Such is the power, the lividness of Tim's writing. Grim Riders will create in you a love for the western genre, it's fresh, harsh, tragic, brutal at times, but always entertaining, simply astonishing fiction. All I can say is: Tim, give me more!"—James R. Cain, editor Dark Animus Magazine

…While the head cashier and his assistant stuffed the bags and Partridge kept his gun on the other one, Mexican Joe drilled the gunner and, in that moment of fervor, the other cashier made a wild dash for a Remington .44 under the counter. He got it up and out all right, but not before Partridge shot him point blank just beneath the left eye. His face seemed to shatter like a window, going to shards and splashing off the bone beneath. And such is the kiss of a .44 caliber slug at close range. He lurched backward, fountaining blood and bone chips, but reflexive action made him jerk the trigger. The Remington went off like a cannon and Partridge felt the bullet pass so close to his right arm it singed the hairs on his hand. It went past him and found Mexican Joe. It went in through his rib cage, tumbled through his internals, glanced off his spinal column, and exited his lower back in a fist-sized hole...